Exs and Ohs
by naturally morbid
Summary: AU. Harleen Quinzel, always unlucky in love, is about to be kicked out of university if she doesn't find a way to come up with the cash quick. Desperate, she turns to a less savory means, as a dancer named Harley Quinn, of securing funds for her expenses. When she finds herself the object of a mysterious patron's affection, Harley wonders if this time will be different.
1. Chapter 1

**Exs and Ohs**

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Maybe just the plot idea.

 **Author's Note:** Inspired by Suicide Squad Harley (because Margot Robbie – mmm) but it's actually an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for over a year now. Title is also based on the popular song "Exs and Ohs" as I feel it really fits Harley so well. There is a reason why she is only Harleen at first and not Harley but that's all part of the plot my dears. Also features other Batman characters, but they might be a little AU. Things have been twisted to suit my own purposes.

But do let me know, as politely as possible, if anyone is OOC.

 **Rated:** M for Mature. Will eventually contain subject matter and some scenes that might offend some readers.

 **Chapter 1**

Harleen Quinzel stared at the single sheet of paper, horrifying words jumping out at her from the page.

 _As you are aware of the fact that our prestigious college – Gotham City University is constantly on the lookout for promising athletic talent. In our endeavor to do so, we offer one scholarship for gymnastics to interested students to the tune of $10,000 each year._

 _We have received your scholarship application and our esteemed panel has reviewed your interview. We are sorry to inform you that you do not meet our rigorous requirements for the scholarship. If you are still interested in attending classes next semester, you can apply for student loans and grants through our financial aid office._

She almost skipped the lines wishing her well with future endeavors and "not to lose heart." Bile rose to the top of her throat.

 _Too late for that_ , she thought bitterly. _Funds are running out._

It was true. Her account had enough for maybe a week, if she spent carefully and only ate one meal a day.

But there wouldn't be enough for another semester, much less finishing this one. With her internship at Arkham, Harleen couldn't fit in a regular job and attend classes. She had banked everything on getting that scholarship, which she knew deep down was stupid. There had been no time for the serious training she needed to outdo the Russian transfer student.

Harleen could apply for financial aid again, but she didn't think she could get it in time for this coming semester. Her financial history was not sterling, especially when it came to apartment deposits.

This apartment was a shit hole in a terrible location, but it was literally all she could afford on her own.

Another stupid mistake when it came to a guy. The cops had been involved too. That didn't look good for a scholarship applicant.

Flinging herself across her hastily-made bed, Harleen dialed her best friend Pamela "Ivy" Isley for another perspective. She just managed to choke the bile down her throat again.

"Hello? Doctor Pamela Isley speaking, what is the nature of your call?" came her friend's smoky voice through the receiver.

"Ivy, you're not a doctor yet," Harleen pointed out. She tried to sound irritated, but that was next to impossible. A smile cracked her face.

"I'm practicing for when I am. I was thinking about calling you today. What's up?"

Harleen could clearly picture the redhead twirling a lock of thick, curly hair around a slim finger as she idly flipped through a botany book. If Harleen bent the other way, she might have pursued Ivy. It was a shame her friend was wasted down in the labs and greenhouses all day. Maybe, after this last run in, Harleen should turn to women…

Alas, her taste was apparently in terrible men. She seemed to attract jerks and crazies like pigeons.

"I've got a problem." Harleen's thick, New York accent ran the words together, making them sound more whiney than she planned.

"If it's an ex-boyfriend again, you'll just have to lock the door and call the police this time," Ivy said.

"No, not that kind of problem. A school problem Ivy." She could feel the bile rising in her throat again.

"Har, I cannot charm the prof-"

Harleen cut her off. "No, a funding problem."

"Funding?"

"Yes Ivy. I've got a letter here from the university."

"Well," came the reply. "You should have cut the dramatics and started with that. I'll be right over." There was no word of goodbye as Ivy hung up her phone.

Sighing, Harleen flopped sideways on her bed, staring up at the stained ceiling. It would be a few minutes before Ivy made it downtown to the cheap housing. Up until a few months ago, Ivy would have just walked downstairs to Harleen's apartment in the resident housing of Gotham City University.

That had been one of her latest, costly mistakes. Moving in with her boyfriend had seemed like a good idea at the time. Until he wasn't.

It had cost her a good, cheap place on school grounds when they had broken up. Cheapside was her only option.

She had tried hard to be optimistic every time her apartment was burgled, telling herself it would just be for a few months. Then she had failed a class because of the emotional drama and nearly lost her internship at Arkham, working with the inmates.

Harleen got up and started picking up clothes from the floor. Ivy hated messes and would complain. She threw the items at her bathroom door; close enough to the hamper there.

Soon enough, Ivy was knocking at the door using their code of "shave and a haircut."

"I brought snacks," Ivy said brushing past Harleen into the apartment. "The standard – chocolate, peanut butter, and chips." Things were serious enough if Ivy was bringing food along.

"Great. I don't have much food."

"I didn't think so." Ivy set the bag on the counter and Harleen dug in. "Where's the letter?"

Harleen gestured toward the bed, where the letter lay abandoned on the pillows.

Gracefully, Ivy sat down and crossed her legs as she scooped up the letter and started reading.

After a moment or two, Ivy sighed as she set the letter back down and rubbed her temples.

"This is a big problem, Har."

"I know! That's why I called you. You have all the answers." Harleen knew she was whining but she didn't care.

"I might not this time." Ivy lay back on the bed. "Or at least, an answer you might not like."

"As long as you're not telling me to move back home, because I would have to kill you with this butter knife and that would take a very long time, Sweetie," she teased, scooping out a big chunk of peanut butter with the utensil.

Under no circumstances would Harleen ever return home. She would go naked and homeless on the streets of Gotham before she moved back to the shithole that had been home, with all of her clingy brothers and sisters, her passive-aggressive mother, and overbearing father.

Harleen went and lay down on the bed beside her friend, snuggling as close as possible because she knew it irritated Pamela.

"You could move in with me," Ivy suggested.

"I could. But I don't think that would be fair to the men in your life," Harleen said.

"What men? It would be cramped though. We would have to share a shower and a bed." Ivy rolled over to look into her friend's bright, blue eyes.

"I'm not hearing anything wrong with this plan so far."

"I think it would not be good for us in the long run. You would drive me insane," Ivy said, tapping Harleen's nose. "And then you would see me at Arkham."

"So Plan B?"

"You call home."

"No. They can't help me from the trailer park," Harleen snapped. "I already said 'no' to that idea to begin with."

"Plan C. You take up my old job."

"At the plant nurs-"

"No, my old night job."

"As what?" Harleen propped herself up on her elbow. She couldn't remember what Pamela had done a while back.

"A stripper."

 **Author's End Note:** That's it for now. Scream if you want to go faster! *wheeeee!* Actually, if you are interested in seeing another chapter, just comment below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Exs and Ohs**

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Maybe just the plot idea.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for the feedback / favs and saves/ motivation so far.

Shout Outs for Commenting: **Samantha S, XxTaintedxDaggerxX, Amirrel, makbeesamurai, Chicken Broccoli 2013, princesscheertumble, BelieverofManyThings, agilina1, & Guest. **

Some liberties taken with Harley's background and things borrowed from other DC areas and series. But do let me know, as politely as possible, if anyone is OOC.

 **Rated:** M for Mature. Will eventually contain subject matter and some scenes that might offend some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Not suitable for readers under 16.

 **Chapter 2**

Harleen sat up and then remained quiet for a few moments, letting the information soak in. _Stripper. Strip-per. Strip. As in take all my clothes off. In front of people._ Pamela also sat up and glanced around her messy apartment.

It was not that Harleen didn't mind getting in the limelight, but the fact that it meant taking her clothes off, for money, in front of people. _Duh Harley,_ she groaned inwardly, _they don't pay you to stand there and look pretty with them all on. What would be the psychological impact of me doing this?_

She stared, open mouthed at her best friend. Had Ivy told her about her job as a stripper? She probably had, but chances are that Harleen had been more concerned with a boyfriend at the time and wasn't paying attention.

"So, let me get this straight, you, future famous botanist, took your clothes off for money?" It was one of those square peg fits into the round hole ideas.

Pamela adjusted her designer frames and folded her arms over her ample bosom; she seemed to be contemplating something. Maybe this was an elaborate joke. That had to be it.

When Pamela's face didn't crack a smile, not too uncommon for her jokes, Harleen let loose with a shriek of laughter.

"You're kidding me," she said. "You've got to be joking." She gave her friend a gentle push on the shoulders.

"Am I the kind of person that would joke about something like this?"

"Yes Ivy. Because you play your jokes so deadpan that it sometimes takes me forever to figure them out! And then, they may not even be funny!"

"This isn't a joke Harleen. Do you want my help or not?"

Being friends as long as they had, Harleen knew when Pamela was right at her limit of what she would tolerate.

"Yes, I need your help, oh great and powerful Ivy." Just for good measure, she threw herself in Pamela's lap.

The other girl rolled Harleen off her knees.

"Well, first thing's first. We need to get you through the upcoming weeks. I can lend you…" Ivy paused to do a quick calculation. "About $500 right now, for day to day expenses and prepping for an interview. Use. It. Wisely."

$500 was better than the $50 in Harleen's rapidly declining account. She squealed and hugged the closest part of Ivy she could reach, which was her skinny jeans-clad calves.

"Before you start thanking me, this comes with stipulations. I get to go with you to pick up groceries. I also help you set up your interviews for clubs. We can try my old haunt first – Gotham City Sirens. I also get full creative license over hair, makeup, and costume for your interviews. I will also cover other expenses until you find a job, with the expectation that you will pay me back – with interest – when you find a job."

"Why don't we make a contract?" Harleen huffed.

"Oh, that's a great idea! But I have one more stipulation. I will also help you reapply for financial aid for next semester. I have some ideas already on how to cross that bridge and get you a summer class or two." Ivy's long, slender fingers were curled on her hips in a very maternal fashion.

"You're the best Ivy! I think I'll just have to marry you!" Harleen made to kiss her friend on the lips, but Ivy turned at the last minute – fully aware of the reaction – and the kiss landed on her left cheek instead.

"I'm keeping my options open," Ivy said as Harleen tried again. "Don't thank me yet, not until we get you a job."

Not twenty-four hours later, after her shift at Arkham, Harleen was sitting in Ivy's organized one-room studio flat with an assortment of costumes that had about as much fabric as a napkin in them.

"Thank goodness I kept these," Ivy said as she dug further back in her closet. "That will cut down on your initial expenses." She emerged with yet another plastic tote of sexy items. This one was filled to the brim with shoes.

"I'm glad you keep everything too, you pack rat," Harleen teased as they pulled the lid off and the stale scent of foot odor and patent leather hit her.

"What size do you wear?" Ivy asked, eyeing her friend's feet.

"Eights and nines." Harleen eyed Ivy's feet; she was a little taller, more buxom.

"These might fit." She handed a pair of plain black pumps, with an at least 5" heel on them and a hidden platform beneath the toes.

Within seconds, Harleen slid them onto her feet, feeling the weight pull her ankles down. _I'm supposed to dance in these?_ She thought, used to wearing either flats or kitten-heels.

"Now, it's best that you practice in them, before we even think of having you audition. You'll be expected to walk on them all night."

"Walk on them all night?" Harleen repeated, as she took delicate, mincing steps around the small room. It was taking some getting used to, walking on the hidden platform that seemed to rock forward slightly. However, she couldn't deny that she felt like a sex goddess and finally tall enough to reach the highest shelf at the supermarket without assistance.

"Oh yeah. I don't suggest taking many breaks. Har, this is not going to be like any other jobs you've ever had. Let me tell you some things." Ivy patted the spot on the bed beside her.

Harleen worked her way back to the bed with slightly larger steps, but could already feel her ankles getting tired.

"How is it different besides the obvious?" she asked.

"Well, you know how at a job like the supermarket or a clothing store, the product is all around you and no one expects you to sell it to them. This time, _you_ are the product – your body, your mannerisms, your will. You are there to entertain and make the customers forget about their outside cares. They're buying you, in little increments at a time. If they're not paying you for your time, you move on and find someone who will."

Harleen had a little experience with this thinking, from some of her readings and work in her psych classes, with sex trade victims.

"But I'm a fighter," Harleen said. "I'm not going to push my boundaries."

"You say you won't, but you have to be sure Har. I won't lie, this is dangerous work. People will want to take advantage of you. Everyone, from management right on down to customers, especially customers. Not all of them are bad Harleen, but you have to keep that mentality that this is just a means to an end."

"Management too?" Harleen wasn't sure she had ever worked anywhere that she didn't have someone she could trust. Even at the supermarket dump she had worked when she was in high school in her little hometown there had always been someone who would take her side.

"Management too. Go in with the mentality that you are there to make money to make ends meet. Never lose sight of that."

This information explained a lot of reasons why Ivy tended to keep everyone at a distance, even Harleen. It took her a long time to warm up to people she didn't know. A chill raced down Harleen's back; she had never heard Ivy speak like this and if she was being brutally honest with herself, it frightened her.

"Okay, I won't lose sight of that," she promised.

"Good. I'm serious Harleen. You can't afford to lose sight of your goals. Now, come on, let's find some things that fit. Then I'll need to help you order a thong or two, and after that, we'll get dolled up and visit some of these places."

Harleen groaned playfully, but inside she felt as cold as ice.

Back home, it was somewhat expected that girls who couldn't cut it or get their lives in order would eventually end "up on the pole" or in a "meth house." She just never envisioned this life for herself, or that she would not only have to consider this way of life, but that she would have to actually depend on it to make a living. Harleen glanced again at Ivy; how was it her friend seemed to have everything under control?

 _Because she keeps her eyes on the prize, Har. She doesn't get distracted by two-timing little nobodies with a baby carrot between their legs, does she? Like you did. See how that went for you? You screwed it all up, just like always._

"Har?" Ivy was shaking her back to reality.

"Sorry, zoned for a minute." Her little self-berating could sometimes go off the deep end. But the majority of it was true.

She had allowed herself to get distracted by someone she thought was a good person. That was, until he gave her the first little smack across the face one night over not being home to prepare dinner. One little smack was nothing really, Harleen had reasoned. And he had apologized, with jewelry. Not diamonds exactly, but crystals were still pretty. She had seen her father give her mother a little smack every now again, over dinner or laundry, or one of her siblings…

But then, when the next smacks had come – harder- one night for nothing more than her falling asleep while waiting for him to get home from a night of carousing with his friends, Harleen wondered if maybe she was making a huge mistake. On the other hand, he had bought her a new pair of Prada heels the next day when he was sober again. And then took her out for dinner at that expensive new restaurant, bought her a dozen red roses and candy…

Then smacks had turned to punches, not where anyone could see, and Harleen had turned to her only friend left – Ivy, who had called the cops and put an end to the misery. Which, is how she found herself in her dingy apartment that had been broken into three, no scratch that, four times now, just in the last two months.

"Harleen, have you been listening?" Ivy asked.

"Yes." She waited a second. "No. I was just thinking, sorry."

Ivy stopped what she was doing and gave Harleen another long, hard look. "Are you sure you're up for this? This isn't just for everybody, you know."

"Yes, I have to do this," Harleen said. It was going to be the only way. She couldn't borrow money from the bank with her credit score. There wouldn't be time for a shift job and still work at Arkham and try to fit classes in. And she couldn't keep freeloading off Pamela.

Once business was taken care of, Pamela helped Harleen style herself up for an evening out on the town. It had been a long time since she had felt the weight and pull of hot rollers in her hair or brows that were tweezed to an inch of their lives.

Back home, when Harleen was competing in gymnastic competitions and some beauty pageants, her mother had been the one to fix her up every time. While her mother had been nothing special, she had a knack for making her daughter look a little better than some of the other "white trash" – her mother's words, not her own, competitors. That, and Harley's sparking personality and natural talent had taken her far.

Still, as Pamela helped paint the shimmering red shadow on her lids, Harleen found that she was a little homesick for the old days when it was her mother instead.

Pamela had lent Harleen a red, ruched body con dress that just barely covered her assets, one strap over her left shoulder molding the top to her bosom. She hadn't asked why her friend had the dress, because with her red hair it would not have been the best color pairing. The dress was paired with the black heels Pamela had lent her earlier.

"To do every day things in," Pamela had told her, as she fluffed Harleen's curls.

Looking at herself in the mirror one final time before they left, Harley had to admit that she looked great – like a whole new person. The red eyeshadow, with her kohl outlined eyes, made her look fierce but her sultry red lips gave her an old Hollywood appearance.

Ivy was stunning in a little green dress, her red curls wild and streaked with gold. She had paired the outfit with gold trimmings as well – heels, bracelets, and a choker shaped like little ivy leaves. Harleen had known about Ivy's plant-inspired tattoos, but now looking at how the vines disappeared mid-thigh beneath her dress, they had never seemed more inviting.

"Remember to keep hold of your drink at any of the bars," Ivy warned as they made their way down to the elevator.

Outside, a brisk wind pulled at their hair as Ivy hailed a taxi. Already, Harleen's feet were a little tired but this gentle protest was overrun with the nervousness and excitement rising up in her throat. The cab driver only glanced at them. It was Gotham after all.

Harleen had worried that maybe everyone would figure out they were going to a strip club. All she could picture were seedy men in a dark and dank atmosphere, seated at private tables and chain smoking.

But the outside of Gotham City Sirens invoked none of these images. It was in a pretty good district of town, around regular nightclubs and well lit. The outside was decorated with seductive silhouettes outlined in pink and blue neon, advertising different dancers and specials for the week.

At the door, Ivy spoke to one of the burly, bald bouncers and the girls were in.

"Who was that?" Harleen asked as they stepped through the doors.

"Just an old buddy. Gil. I was pretty friendly with him back when I was dancing," Ivy said offhandedly. "Make sure you get friendly and treat them nice, you know, a little tip goes a long way."

"Got it." More of her money being split up. However, as many muscles as these guys had, she guessed it also wouldn't hurt being a little friendly. If she got a job.

"You ready for an education?" Ivy asked before they stepped down into the club.

Harleen nodded and followed.

 **Author's Note:** Next chapter will be less filler. I feel like this might have been more filler this time, but we've got to set the stage for future chapters, you see? Next time: the club, the job, and even a special brief appearance of our leading man. Comment below and let me know what you think about this update!


	3. Chapter 3

**Exs and Ohs**

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Maybe just the plot idea.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for the feedback / favs and saves/ motivation so far.

Shout Outs: **Guest, Minib10, XxTaintedxDaggerxX, Yaoigirl123, mikaelsonmalfoy, elainemarie83, Chicken Broccoli 2013, Panchimon, secretlysmitten,** and **cvioleta.**

Some liberties taken with Harley's background and things borrowed from other DC areas and series. I am also using some characters from Gotham, or at least as I picture them I am basing them off ones in Gotham, but this isn't really a crossover. Just a borrowing of muses. I can totally picture cute little Edward Nygma in a particular role for some reason.

But do let me know, as politely as possible, if anyone is OOC, preferably by PM.

 **Rated:** M for Mature. Will eventually contain subject matter and some scenes that might offend some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Not suitable for readers under 16.

 **Chapter 3**

It took a few seconds for Harleen's eyes to adjust to the interior of the club. It was dark, but not the dank cave she had first pictured.

Instead, it was a lot like the inside of a circus. A very adult circus. Minus the elephants and maybe the clowns.

 _Maybe with just the acrobats,_ she decided as Pamela gripped her hand and led her down the shallow steps to main floor. Everything was bathed in a mix of pink, purple, and blue neon that gave the experience a slightly unreal quality, as if someone else was walking through her life and Harleen just happened to be watching this station.

Gotham City Sirens had an unanticipated classy feel, with the crystal chandeliers, beaded and pearled drapes interwoven with shimmering cloth ones, and cozy couple table seating. Tables were lit by flameless LED pillar candles with private, individual stages scattered throughout the bar. The little stages were lit by the golden glowing lights she usually only associated with movie theaters.

The floor was carpeted, but the pattern was undistinguishable to her busy eyes. She felt some relief that it wasn't concrete or tile but shuddered to think was probably spilled on it. Comfortable couches lined the perimeter, save for the areas with the stairs. Golden lamps and beads or crystals hung down strategically drawing the eye to the bar and the main stage located, she guessed, near the back of the establishment.

There were mirrors reflecting the lights and images back to them, lining the stage, and Harleen supposed hiding the backstage and private rooms simultaneously. Different rooms were divided off with walls of windows and more of the blingy drapes, or the scattering of short railings. One of the rooms looked as if it might be having a bachelor party, or something to that effect, Harleen noted judging by the more intimate setting of a smaller stage lined with plush couches covered in hot guys all wearing similar shirts.

Harleen was surprised to see the number of women sitting at the tables, enjoying acrobatic performances by the semi-nude and nude dancers. The men were predominately dressed in suits and loosened ties, a higher quality clientele than she had originally imagined as well, and seemed eager just to sip quietly and forget their troubles waiting for them just beyond the doors.

The girls wove in between tables, carefully avoiding dancers and servers as they wound their way to the bar in the back. Loud, thumping Top 40s music blasted from unseen speakers – Harleen felt the beats like a second heartbeat in her chest. Around them, people were laughing and dancing and…

While Harleen was not a prude by any means, she still avoided her eyes when it lingered just a moment too long on the bump and grind going on in the corners of the establishment.

 _Soon you'll have to do that, you know,_ her mind sang. _You'll have to lose that blush too._

But she was certainly surprised by how clean and professional it seemed to be. It was not the skeezy setting she had pictured from old 80s movies growing up.

"What do you think so far?" Ivy asked, shouting to be heard over all the noise.

"High class," Harleen screamed back.

At the bar, they had to push in a little to be served by a woman in her late 40s to early 50s. She had close-cropped grey hair and was wearing a leather bra that fully accentuated her still lingering curves. The woman winked at Ivy and started fixing what looked like two Cosmos.

"I don't drink," Harleen yelled.

"Don't worry, it's virgin. She's a good friend of mine," Ivy shouted. "Always order virgin when at work." She laid her money out and made sure that she took the drinks directly from the bartender. The woman winked again and turned to another customer as the girls took off.

"Come on, let's get a seat near the stage!" Ivy suggested.

Harleen, now trying to navigate in new shoes, holding a drink, and keeping a tight grip on her purse, felt that she had about all she could manage.

So when she bumped into someone on the way, she couldn't help but feel that she should have seen it coming. Surprised that she did manage not to spill a drop of a drink on the dark blue sleeve of the stranger, Harleen glanced up.

Keen, bright blue eyes were the first thing she really noticed, staring out at her from a face that was pale but well-structured with cheekbones sharp enough to carry permanent shadows behind them. His face was at once sympathetic and cold in one beautiful package. Dark brown hair was slicked down, neat and tidy like so many of the business men around them, but Harleen found it looked wrong on the stranger in a way she couldn't logically explain. Like he was wearing a wig and was only imitating a normal person.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't…"

"No problem," the stranger said, cutting his eyes away from her and slipping into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.

Taking another second to gather her thoughts, Harleen ripped after Ivy, catching up with her at a more secluded table, just off to the side of the stage where they wouldn't look too eager. As she sat down, Harleen couldn't shake the bitter wave of disappointment that rippled through her about the stranger. Then, she got angry with herself because he was only a stranger she had bumped into after all. What had she been expecting from him? A proposal? He hadn't even glanced twice at her.

Still, he had somehow seemed familiar to her. Like an actor she had once seen in a movie or a show.

"You might want to take some notes," Ivy shouted as she arranged herself in the plush chair to better see the stage.

Momentarily shaking the stranger from the desperate grasps of her mind, Harleen tried to focus on the reason she was out here in the first place.

"That's Selina Kyle! She's Gotham's finest. If you get hired, stay away from her. She'll rob you blind and claw you up! She also bares all."

Harleen watched now, with rapt attention, as a dark-haired young woman took the stage, the points of her heels cracking like whips as she took the pole. Ivy's last phrase fell on deaf ears.

Selina started undulating her body, one hand firmly on the pole, in time to the music. With a deft move, the dancer picked herself up and swung around the pole, her hips rotating with the jump before she gripped the metal with her thighs and started climbing up hand over hand.

Unconsciously, Harleen leaned forward, drink forgotten as Selina spun around upside-down this time before sliding a few inches down the pole and grasping with her hands, once more catching herself before she fell headfirst. These moves were exotic when compared to Harleen's dance and gymnast knowledge. Money began to appear on the floor from the illuminated fists of the men and women in the front of the stage.

The club was even louder now, practically deafening with yells and whoops, as Selina swung herself around and flipped her hair with such control she even seemed a tad robotic.

Pausing during the bridge of the song, Selina shimmied her breasts and held onto the pole only with her thighs. She was in danger of spilling out of the skimpy costume top, all shiny patent leather and lace. Teasingly, the dancer began to remove the top, taking care with the straps, feigning growing bored, spinning around again, then another shimmy and the top came down.

Two almost perfectly round breasts bounced out, rosy pink buds hardened and a faint sheen of sweat painting her entire torso. Harleen blushed a little even though she had seen plenty of breasts in locker rooms before, not including her own every day. It was surreal looking at another set when you knew everyone else was also looking at them too.

Selina sank to the floor as another song started up, whipping her head around so that her dark, curly locks were nothing more than a shower. She could undulate and grind her body on her knees as impressively as she had on the pole.

The dancer rolled over on her back, bringing her legs up together and then slowly spreading them as she ran gloved hands over a rolling bare torso. More money appeared and she grasped for it, rubbing it all over herself with a wicked grin at her adoring public.

Harleen watched the rest of the performance, now only taking in parts here or there as her mind began turning with the start of the performance. The stranger was long forgotten now.

Another song began and Selina moved more into standing work and teasing the matching patent leather panties down her legs. If Harleen thought bouncing breasts were a little stunning, she did have to momentarily look away when Selina's "kitty" appeared.

 _Get used to seeing them and showing yours,_ she chided herself.

"Do you have to take everything off?" she shouted at Ivy once Selina had finished up and collected the remaining money, tucking it into a clip on her garter.

"No, not here. That's Selina's preference. You don't even really have to take your top off, but you tend to get more money," Ivy explained.

"I want to see everything now," Harleen said, taking a big gulp of her drink and standing up. The only way she could think to describe her feelings was as giddy as a puppy with a new ball. She wanted to analyze every aspect of the club and then some.

"Come on then. I'll show you my old haunts." Ivy took Harleen's hand and led her through the circus once more.

* * *

That night, as Harleen tried to sleep on the cramped loveseat in Ivy's apartment, her mind was turning over all the information she had seen and heard.

It was really an overload, like cramming for a test when you knew you should have been studying all along.

Already her mind was putting together routines and plans, when she didn't even have an audition yet.

Eventually, Harleen fell asleep but her dreams vomited back twisted images and fractured memories of the club night. Purple and pink lights. Round breasts. Bright, blue eyes and high cheek bones. Shining brass poles. In the morning, it felt as if she hadn't slept at all.

* * *

After her morning shift at Arkham, Harleen flopped across her bed to call the number Ivy had given her earlier before they parted ways. Really all Harleen wanted to do was sleep for about a million years. It had been a particularly trying day with the inmates…

Instead, using her last reserves of patience and strength, she began dialing the number on her very worn out mobile phone.

"Gotham City Sirens," a pleasant male voice said after a couple of rings.

"Yes," Harleen said, feeling really stupid a fraction of a second later. She had called them after all. "I was calling to inquire if you were hiring any dancers right now?"

There was a pause, which felt very long in Harleen's mind.

"As a matter of fact, we are. I have a question for you though."

Harleen cringed, even though Ivy had warned her this might be the case. She said the manager was a little…eccentric.

"Okay."

"No legs have I to dance, no lungs have I to breathe, no life have I that dies and yet I do all three. What am I?" The voice had a rather sing-song quality to it.

"Give me a minute." Her mind was racing.

"Timer set."

Was that really a clock she heard ticking in the background? _No time for that,_ Harleen thought. This riddle sounded familiar.

With time running out, she hastily answered: "Fire. It's fire."

"Very good. Here at Gotham City Sirens we want to make sure our dancers have plenty of fire. Would you be available to come in tomorrow afternoon, around four?"

"Yes. Absolutely!"

"Great. Who shall I put down for the appointment?"

"Harley," she said. "Harley Quinzel."

"Well Harley, when you come tomorrow, let the boys at the front know that you have an appointment with Edward Nygma."

They made their brief goodbyes and hung up. Harleen let the phone drop from her hand onto the dingy floor and pressed her face into her covers.

She had an audition. An audition! Time to call Ivy.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Comment below if you enjoyed this next installment! Next chapter, we begin to get down to business. Did you notice our leading man's cameo?


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